


Pour It Up

by catholicschoolgirl



Series: The Loveeee Song Series [3]
Category: One Direction (Band), Rihanna (Musician)
Genre: Crack, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Infidelity, Rihanna being mean about contemporary artists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 06:42:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1256608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catholicschoolgirl/pseuds/catholicschoolgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rihanna said she wanted Harry to write her a song. They end up making a movie instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pour It Up

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Emily, who helped come up with the basic idea of this story. Thanks, of course, to Frida for the quick beta!
> 
> Title from the Rihanna song by the same name, duh.

Harry fucking loved Los Angeles. The sunshine, the people, all of the hustle and bustle – there was always something to do, people to meet. The energy of the city just innately appealed to Harry, and it didn't hurt that so many of his best friends lived out here. It was just an amazing city and Harry couldn't help but come out to Southern California every opportunity he got.

It was a pretty regular Tuesday. Harry had done a bit of fan service earlier in the day, going to Jamba Juice and taking pictures with a few girls before driving out to Santa Monica to hang out in the studio. He had plans to meet up with Kendall later in the evening but he had just felt so in the zone writing-wise, had ever since he teamed up with John Legend and banged out a few tracks. It was amazing and refreshing to write songs that he wasn't expected to sing with the lads – allowed him to explore topics and themes that would inevitably end up on the cutting room floor should their label get a listen. Harry was sitting in one of the quiet conference rooms, leafing through his journal for a few lyrics he had mindlessly jotted down a few days ago, when his phone went off with a The 1975 track. Harry fished it out of his back pocket, frowning at the unfamiliar phone number but putting it to his ear anyway with a quiet, “Hello?”

“Styles!” a chirpy female voice greeted him. “Lover boy, didn't know you were going to be in LA at the same time as me. Gotta keep me up to date with these things.”

“Rihanna?” Harry asked in disbelief. “Is this Rihanna?”

“Oh yeah, probably should've started off with that,” Rihanna mumbled. “This is Rihanna! I changed my number and took all the has-beens out of my phone. I just landed at LAX from my birthday bash in Aspen and one of the paps threw out that you were here and had gone to that shitshow with one of the Kardashians.”

It took a brief moment for Harry to translate everything Rihanna had said – Harry still wasn't used to her brusque style of speaking and was tremendously in awe of her in general, even after everything they had done together. Harry had never even told anyone besides the other lads – who would believe that he had fucked Rihanna twice?

Harry was able to piece it out after a moment, though. “Are you asking about me going to the Miley Cyrus concert with Kendall Jenner?”

“Yes, how very dare you go see that hick bitch during my birthday weekend,” Rihanna said. Harry couldn't tell whether she was legitimately upset or just putting it on. “And with 'Miss Bought Her Way Into Fashion Week'? Rude. Get some standards. Fix your hair, too, it looks kinda mangy. Upgrade your life. Do better.”

Harry frowned. “I like my hair. The concert was fun. And Kendall is a good model – and my girlfriend, so that's not very nice. Are you drunk?”

“Am I ever sober, that's the real question,” Rihanna laughed. “I'm a little hungover, that's all. Anyway, I heard that you've been writing. How come you haven't given me anything?”

Harry felt dazed. “I didn't know that was an option.”

“You would think that you would reach out to your superstar friends, although I guess Miss Never Getting Back Together isn't going to take anything of yours,” Rihanna snorted. “Write me something. A real banger, not one with a 'Z.'”

“We're friends?” Harry wasn't stupid. Fucking a few times and texting each other every so often didn't mean they were close – unless Rihanna thought they were. If Rihanna thought they were friends – shit. Harry had just wanted a quiet day in the studio and then a chill evening with Kendall. He and Kendall hadn't even properly fucked yet because Harry was trying to do this thing where he liked people for their personality and not for how well they sucked dick. “I don't – I'm not sure – ”

Rihanna hummed softly. “I have the ultimate confidence in you. I've got an idea. You should come to my place and we can write something together, how about that? See what you're made of.”

Harry felt vaguely overwhelmed. “I've got a date with Kendall later.”

“Who?” Rihanna asked. “Oh, the Kardashian girl. Tell her you've got a thing. I don't know. Tell her the truth – that I called you and want you to write a song. Leave out the part where we're gonna fuck.”

“Oh, are we?” Harry asked cheekily.

“Like I'm just gonna call you to come over and not get a ride. C'mon, Styles. I know you're smart. Jenna will text you my address. Come around eight or so. Bye, lover boy!”

Rihanna hung up and Harry stared at his phone in disbelief for a few minutes before shaking his head and turning back to his journal.

 

You can imagine how it all went down. Harry, with no illusions of actually writing anything, took a long shower and drove his rental down to a swanky penthouse that Rihanna was staying at for a few weeks. “I actually have a property here,” Rihanna explained as she let Harry in and poured out a few shots for the two of them in the kitchen. Even standing around in this apartment she looked like an absolute superstar – no makeup but her skin was still enviously flawless, dark hair pulled back into a bun, wearing low-slung gray sweats and a Topshop crop top. Her beauty only made the penthouse seem more impressive, although it was an amazing space on its own – views of downtown Los Angeles, spacious, airy, but a bit cold. It was obviously a transitory place, somewhere for millionaires to put their heads down when they were in town for some period of time. Harry, as a professional if glorified couchsurfer, understood the appeal. “I had the seven bedroom dream house, you know. But bitches kept breaking into it and I realized that shit just ain't worth it. I'm selling it now. Los Angeles just isn't it for me the way I thought it was.”

“I really like Los Angeles,” Harry said a bit defensively, leaning against Rihanna's counter as he threw back his shot of Jameson. Rihanna watched him with a sly grin.

“That's cuz you're British,” Rihanna laughed. “All you need is sunshine and sunscreen and you'll be happy.”

Harry shrugged but laughed along, unable to help himself. There was just something so radiant about Rihanna, something so effortlessly sexy, from the way her eyes glinted when she looked at Harry to the way she pushed herself to stand in front of him, her fingers pulling at his jean's belt loops.

“What do you have underneath these?” she asked, biting at her lower lip and gazing at him through her eyelashes.

“Take a wild guess,” Harry grinned.

Rihanna smirked and somehow managed to unbutton Harry's jeans despite the inconvenient-looking dagger-like nails she was sporting. Looking inordinately pleased with herself, Rihanna pushed Harry's jeans down and said, “No underwear again, Styles. You certainly know the way to my heart.”

“All about easy access, right?” Harry asked, taking his own hand and slipping them underneath the waistband of Rihanna's sweats, his breath hitching when he realized there was indeed nothing between the fabric of her pants and her warm, smooth skin. Harry skittered his fingers across her abdomen before pressing an exploratory finger against her clit, rubbing against her and dipping another finger into her wet, hot heat while she cursed.

“Lemme just get a little more comfortable,” she mumbled and Harry nodded, watching as she pulled her own sweats down and off, doing the same with her crop top. Harry let his eyes wander appreciatively over her body before grabbing her by the hips and sitting her on the counter, slotting in between her thighs and pulling her flush against his chest.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asked and Rihanna didn't even nod, just snaked her arms around the back of Harry's neck and kissed him, soft, comfortable, like she wasn't expecting anything more, like she wasn't naked in the middle of a rented penthouse, her nipple piercing pressing against Harry's T-shirt while he had his own dick out. Harry broke away first and Rihanna's eyes were closed, her expression fond and self-satisfied. Harry moved downward, careful not to leave obvious marks, taking special time mesmerizing the taste of her tits, moving his fingers back to rub against her before attacking her clit with his tongue, breathing in her musk, letting her make a mess on his chin and committing her soft moans to memory, jerking himself dryly.

“Wait, wait, Harry, lover boy, just give me a minute,” Rihanna mumbled, pushing his face away from her pussy as she took a moment to collect herself, leaning back against her counter and breathing deeply. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Can I record you?” Rihanna asked. “It'll just stay between you and me – but the way you look in between my legs – ”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed out. “I used to record girls with Zayn sometimes, I get it. Can I just – I wanna get another taste – ”

“Of course, fuck,” and Rihanna reached out to grab her phone, flicking the video function on before her hands found their way into his hair and Harry let himself be guided back to her cunt.

 

It was only after Harry and Rihanna had somehow stumbled into the actual bedroom, Rihanna's ass propped up by a pillow while Harry fucked her deep and slow until she squirted all over his cock, and he pulled out and shot off onto her stomach, that she asked him. “Why are you always bringing Zayn up when we're hooking up? This was like the second or third time.”

Harry shrugged. “He's my friend.”

“You never talk about the other ones though,” Rihanna continued. “It's always that pretty one.”

“You think Zayn's pretty?”

Rihanna shrugged, lighting her blunt and taking a long pull. “I mean, yeah, of course. I know you do, too. I wouldn't turn it down, if the opportunity presented itself.”

“Turn what down? Zayn?”

“No,” Rihanna said, giggling. “A threesome with you and him.”

Harry felt faint. Her boldness was so refreshing – the way she was so vocal about what she wanted. That, more than anything, was what made her so fucking sexy. He wouldn't be able to think about anything else, now. Watching Zayn get inside of her – fuck. Harry couldn't pretend like he wasn't already gagging for it. “Oh. Well. I'll see what I can do.”

“Not right now,” Rihanna answered. “Right now I want your cock.”

“Fuck, we just finished,” Harry said. “My refractory period isn't that amazing. Give me like, five minutes.”

“Don't know if the kitty can wait that long,” Rihanna replied, and Harry laughed and most certainly didn't complain when she swung her legs across Harry's head for another ride on his tongue. 

**Author's Note:**

> I still can't decide whether I want to be Harry or Rihanna more in this series lol


End file.
